


your voice in my dream

by Engineer104



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Flashbacks, Mutual Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prisoner of War, sharing dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Five years ago Annette convinced Felix to attempt something he thought useless, a superfluous skill that couldn’t help him in battle.Now it’s the only thing that might save him.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 22
Kudos: 68





	1. runnin' down a dream

**Author's Note:**

> I am attempting a "post as I go" multichapter fic so...let's see how it works out.
> 
> also at risk of being meme-y despite the fic being Pretty Serious (sorry Felix), all chapter titles are based on songs with "dream" in the title or lyrics, because this is how i have fun :)
> 
> i anticipate i might need to warn for some content later, but i'll do that on a chapter-by-chapter basis. until then, please enjoy this prologue! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title from the song of the same name by Tom Petty! Classic with this one...

Felix scanned book titles on the highest shelves, searching for the ones Annette asked him to retrieve. His vision blurred as a yawn split his jaw, and he realized he’d never stayed awake so late to study.

To train? Certainly, though by this time of night someone - whether a particularly vigilant Fraldarius man-at-arms or an especially observant friend - would stop him and press him to rest. “You’ll injure yourself if you don’t rest your muscles,” they would say, and Felix, beginning to feel an ache in his limbs, would concede.

Annette, he since realized, was a harsher taskmaster, if more patient (with him), and with an exam in a mere few days she pushed herself to study later and later into the night. Despite the exhaustion threatening to drag his eyelids down he was loathe to leave her alone in the library at night.

Felix tucked the books under an arm and climbed down the ladder. He followed the singular light source that made shadows dance across his path, his eyes warily scanning the dark rows of bookshelves lest something jump out from behind one.

He’d been on edge since they left Remire.

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders when he spotted Annette in the same place he left her. She sat hunched over a notebook, the scratching of her quill and her mumbling the only sounds in the library until he dropped his load on the table beside her.

Annette jumped with a gasp, her shadow shivering as she jerked her head up to glare at him. “Really, Felix?” she grumbled. “Can’t you announce yourself like a normal person?”

He rolled his eyes as he resumed his seat beside her. “You don’t usually hear me when I do,” he retorted. He nudged the stack of books towards her. “Shouldn’t you light another lamp? You’ll hurt your eyes reading in this lighting.”

Annette glanced at the lamp on the desk between them. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m used to working in lower lighting.”

“Right, well, I’m not,” he complained. He stretched his legs out under the table and crossed his arms, trying to get comfortable in the hard-backed chair. The library’s furniture wasn’t constructed for comfort and he never could understand how that one Black Eagle always fell asleep on it.

Well, maybe he began to understand now, he decided as he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“You can leave if you want,” Annette said, and for some reason her comment made heat rush to his face. He was so sure she glued her attention to her notes… “You seem to understand the theorems we went over earlier well enough.”

Felix grunted and waved a dismissive hand. “I want to go over them again,” he lied, reluctant to tell her why he really lingered. He tugged his own notes towards him, squinting as he scanned them without really reading the symbols and scribbles…though his eyes always wandered back towards Annette before he could stop them.

Her nose wrinkled slightly while she worked, and she chewed on her thumbnail. She cursed under her breath when she smudged ink as she wrote and hummed a vaguely familiar tune while reading. Her foot nudged his under the table, making his heart skip a beat, but when he glanced down he found she only swung her legs back and forth.

An accident. Of course it was, he told himself, unsure why his chest would tighten in disappointment.

He raised an eyebrow, unnoticed by her, when she rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Maybe you should leave,” he commented.

Annette spun her head around, her eyes wide as if she forgot he sat beside her…and with ink smeared on her cheek. “Why?” she wondered. “I’m not finished yet.”

He coughed to disguise the smile tugging at his lips. “I’m sure you know more than you need for the exam,” he told her. “And you”—he pointed to his cheek—”have ink on your face.”

She flushed under the ink as she scrubbed at her cheek with the back of her hand, skin reddening even more. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing…” she mumbled.

Felix smiled, unable to resist it anymore, but turned his face away. “There’s no one else here.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Annette groused. “You’ll surely tell everyone what a mess I am, getting ink on my face while studying, and then by breakfast even Dimitri will know.”

His blood froze at the boar’s name, irritation flickering in his chest. Eager to change the subject - however much a part of him still wanted to prod Annette a little more - he nodded at the books he’d fetched her and asked, “Are you even going to use those, or was I wasting my time grabbing them for you?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said, brightening far quicker than he thought possible. She sifted through them, scanning each one’s table of contents before setting them aside. “None of these are exactly what I was looking for…” she admitted, pinching her lip between her teeth.

Felix sighed and rubbed his nose. “Really.”

“Huh,” Annette said the next instant, as if she hadn’t heard him. “This sounds interesting!” She slid a thin volume with a worn cover from between the other books and squinted at the cover. “ _Black Magic Theory of Dreams_ ,” she read. “So there’s a way to interpret dreams using Reason rather than Faith?” she mused.

Felix didn’t know how to answer her - learning to interpret dreams wasn’t high on his priority list - so stayed silent while she flipped through the book. He found how her brow furrowed in concentration more entertaining than her occasional comments about what she read, listening more intently to her humming than to her words.

At least until an excited gasp escaped her and she shoved the book under his nose, pointing at a chapter title. “Look at this, Felix!”

He blinked as he tugged the book from her hands to frown at the words on the page. “‘Dreaming as Communication’?” He glanced up from the book at her, his eyebrow raised and confused about why, exactly, she smiled so wide. “What are you showing me?”

“It’s a whole chapter about…sharing dreams, I think.” Annette took the book back, lips shaping the words as she read. “It describes the theory and the application. It’s an old technique, but apparently anyone with the slightest affinity for Reason can manage it with enough concentration and with a strong enough relationship to the person they want to share a dream with.”

Felix didn’t want to tell her that was the most absurd and far-fetched thing he’d ever heard, but he did say, “That sounds…unrealistic.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, to his surprise, “but it’s still an interesting idea. I want to try it!”

“Have fun,” he said, unable to disguise a snort. “You and Mercedes can have tea parties in your dreams and in waking then.”

Annette rolled her eyes before admitting in a lower voice, “Well…I was thinking maybe you and I could try it first.”

Felix nearly fell from his seat. His arm flung out to catch himself on the desk as his breath hissed out of him. “W-what?” he stuttered, his face flushing at his unsteady tone. “Why?”

“Why not?” she said, shrugging. “This is sort of our mutual discovery.”

“You found it,” he noted.

“You brought me the book!”

“I thought it was one of the ones you asked for!” he argued. He didn’t know why his heart raced, or why he had to fight her so vehemently on this. Then again, he spent so much of his time refining his skill with sword and bow and studying for these inane exams that wouldn’t serve him in battle that he didn’t have any energy to spare for an _experiment_.

“It’s not,” Annette mused as she glanced at the cover again. “It must’ve been caught between two, but now that it’s here…” She pouted at him, lower lip jutting out. “Come on, Felix.”

He reached past her - goosebumps rising along his arm when it brushed hers - and nudged her notebook towards her. “I thought you had too much studying to do,” he said. “What happened to being the ‘best warlock ever’?”

Annette flushed all over again, her nose turning up as she cleared her throat. “We don’t have to start working on this till after the exam.”

“Right, because I won’t be doing this with you,” he insisted. “I can barely cast a simple Fire spell. What makes you think I can do this?”

Annette turned the book and tapped at the curling script. “I told you, didn’t I?” she said. “Anyone with the slightest affinity for Reason should be able to learn.”

Felix scanned the words under her fingertip. “And we need to have a ‘strong enough relationship’, whatever that means,” he observed. He covered his face, his whole body filling with an embarrassed heat.

“Yes, I suppose that could be a problem,” Annette said, “but I think it’s still worth a try! And if we do succeed, it could be useful, right?”

“Sharing dreams?” Felix scoffed. “What makes you think so?”

“Well…think about it in terms of strategy and tactics!” she explained brightly. “It would be instant communication between us if we were in two different places.”

“Rather inefficient, I think,” he said. “We’d both have to be asleep for it to be useful, and I’m not prone to napping.” But he frowned, her reasoning resonating with him like none of her other arguments had. He rested his chin on his palm…though there was still something about someone - _especially_ Annette - knowing what he dreamed that made his skin prickle with discomfort.

She didn’t need to see his nightmares of Glenn’s empty casket or learn how he, a man nearly grown, still sometimes woke from them with his eyes damp.

“Neither am I…” Annette said, poking her chin with her quill and apparently oblivious to the ink she blotted on her face _again_. “I still think we could find a use for it, that’s all.”

“Why me?” he tried again, though he could already feel his resolve crumbling, the urge to give in and do as she wanted almost overwhelming. What was wrong with him? It usually took even more needling for Sylvain to convince him of something. “Why not Mercedes or Ashe or Lysithea?”

“Because…you’re here right now,” she said.

“Ah, so it’s circumstantial,” he noted, rolling his eyes, though his dismissal of her logic did nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest.

“No, no, of course not!” she denied with a wave of her hands. “It’s just that, well, we see each other in the evenings a lot so I can tutor you in Reason, so we can go through the steps before we go to our own rooms to sleep.”

He frowned. “And you won’t ask anyone else because…?”

“Well, you said you can barely cast a Fire spell?” When he nodded - though how much effort even that simple magic took galled him - she added in a low, sheepish voice, “Ashe can’t even do that.”

“Then anyone else you’re closer to,” Felix said.

“Mercie has a strict bedtime,” Annette informed him so it wouldn’t really work, “and I do not want to give Lysithea any kind of edge against me, especially since she’s in a different class.”

“And so you’re still asking…me?” He sighed and grumbled, “I just don’t understand.”

“Because I…like working with you sometimes?” she blurted, as if it was a question, and without looking at him. “I don’t know, Felix, maybe if we can’t make it work, I’ll ask someone else, but right now I kind of want it to be something I try with you, that’s all.” She spoke in such a rush her face turned a shade of red he barely thought possible, but before he could ask her if they needed to detour to the infirmary before they walked back to the dormitory, she said, “So…? What do you…think?”

“And you want to work closely with a villain like me?” he wondered.

Annette bent her quill so far it snapped in half. “That’s not—yes, well, it’s not like I haven’t been doing that already!” she retorted. “But you seem so intent on avoiding it, so maybe we should just—just stop these nighttime study sessions too!” She capped her inkwell and snapped her notebook shut, shoving her belongings into her bag as he watched her, stiff with shock.

“Wait, wait, that’s not what I—Annette!” His fingers closed around her wrist before he could comprehend he’d reached out, but when she paused and stared down at his hand with wide eyes he dropped it. “I just, um…you just surprised me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, the weight of hour at last threatening to drag him down. “We can…try it,” he said, because even he could admit to himself that he…rather liked spending time with her. He grabbed the bizarre dream book and held it out to her.

Annette’s gaze drifted from his hand to the book. For once lost for words, she accepted the book and tucked it under her arm, but a slow smile shaped her lips.

“All right then!” she said with renewed cheer. “Let’s give it the first try after the exam.”

(Felix wondered why Annette smiling at him gave him the same rush of accomplishment as defeating a challenging foe in battle.)


	2. dreams in the mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix finds Annette in the dream and an important promise is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter title brought to you by "These Dreams" by Heart. More classic stuff, i guess! ~~i have no idea why i thought these corny theme titles were a good idea~~

Felix seeks Annette in the dream, knowing as well as he knows the sound of her voice that she’ll be there to meet him. The dream world melts into being around him, as tangible as the real world while he’s awake, and he stands in the shade of a tall, leafy plant he has no name for.

He’s not sure why his imagination conjured the greenhouse at the monastery, only that it’s something he always associates with Annette. Even in the dream the air is damp on his skin and heavy in his lungs, but worse than that minor discomfort is his racing heart and his mounting fear the longer he waits.

The door opens with a creak of hinges. It shouldn’t, not really - the true greenhouse’s door opens silently - but he turns to face it.

Annette steps through, her eyes wide with surprise when they catch on him. “Felix,” she whispers as she bridges the distance between them.

His breath catches before she jumps at him, her arms catching around his neck and a surprised _oof_ escaping him in the collision. He returns her embrace as tightly, her whole body flush against his and her feet dangling from the ground as he clutches her as close as he can.

She’s warm, and solid, and real, though he knows it’s a dream. But it _is_ unmistakably Annette, and that alone eases some of his fears.

“Are you safe?” he asks, at the same time she wonders, “Why the greenhouse?”

When she loosens her grip on his neck, he sets her down and stares at her. “What?” she says, her brow furrowing.

“Why the _greenhouse_?” Felix echoes. With more reluctance than he thought possible he lets her go to rub his face, exasperated. “Why is that the first thing you ask me?”

“It’s—I don’t know, but you’re right, you’re right.” Annette sighs. “It doesn’t matter when—where are you, Felix?”

He grits his teeth, shame that he can’t give her this most basic of information curdling in his gut. “I’m…not sure,” he confesses. “I passed out after the battle, and when I woke again—”

Annette’s fingers closing around his arm and the heat of her gaze on his face cut him off. “Are you injured?” she demands. “What—if you’re injured, why are you doing this? You should be saving your energy to heal!”

He waves a dismissive hand. “My wound wasn’t severe,” he lies, “and they healed me.” He rolls his eyes as he adds, “It wouldn’t do for a noble captive to die on them.”

“Still…”

“And a little hypocritical of you, isn’t it?” He glares at her, not even a little satisfied when she averts her eyes and shifts in place, his worry making him short. “Last I saw you, you were bleeding worse than me.”

“Mercie is just as capable a healer as any in the Empire!” Annette retorts loyally. “I’m fine, Felix,” she insists when his gaze doesn’t falter. “I cast the spell once I recovered enough strength for it, and, well, you obviously wouldn’t be here yourself if you hadn’t expected me.”

Felix doesn’t tell her this was his second attempt to reach her, doesn’t tell her about how terror that she hadn’t made it froze his blood, doesn’t tell her how he could barely summon the wherewithal or strength to cast the spell to dream when he feared the one he wanted - _needed_ \- to share it with hadn’t survived.

He embraces her again, needing to reassure himself she still lives, half-fearing this Annette is a cheap imitation conjured by his imagination.

Annette squeaks when her face presses into his chest. His heart races under her cheek - he doesn’t doubt she can feel it - and she wraps her arms around his back with a sigh.

There are things Felix needs to tell her, information he must convey, but for now he just wants to be selfish and hold her.

(It’s all he has until he finds her in waking again.)

“I-it’s not that I’m not…happy to see you - in a way - again, Felix,” Annette says with a sniff, “but we really do need to compare notes.”

“I-I know,” he agrees. She has no scent to her, nothing like her while she’s awake, but he thinks he can imagine a hint of her floral soap lingering in her hair.

“Let’s, um, why don’t we go for a walk?” she then suggests. She lifts her head to look up at him, a slight smile stretching her lips.

Red rims her eyes. When was she crying?

But he nods, letting her disentangle their limbs before her hand finds his and tugs him back towards the greenhouse door.

Beyond, a different sight than the monastery he expected greets them. An elegant cobblestone walkway stretches out before them, small trees planted alongside it stretching their branches across it and offering shade. Felix gazes around, curious despite himself, and as Annette leads him down the path he wonders, “Where’s this?”

“It’s the Royal School of Sorcery,” Annette tells him. “I always thought it had prettier grounds than the Officers’ Academy, even if the weather was almost never as nice.” She shoots him a sideways glance. “Have you really never been there?”

He shakes his head and admits, “Whenever we traveled to Fhirdiad, we usually only stayed close to the castle. My…father might’ve had business at the School once or twice though.” When he casts his gaze towards her, he adds, “I’ll have to visit it sometime. With you, I mean.”

He doesn’t mention that now, his fate is far from certain. Though the fate of his body no longer hangs by a thread, he has doubts he’ll live through the war.

But he can’t regret his words - far-fetched or not - when the widest smile yet spreads across Annette’s face. Her hand squeezes his, and he remembers that his fingers are still caught in hers.

Felix doesn’t want to pull away.

A mist lies over the landscape, and the further they walk, the more their surroundings resolve into another building, another tree, another lamppost. The dream has no true sky overhead, no real weather, just a vague impression of sunlight bleeding through indiscernible clouds. It’s always like this, he thinks, and only the sliver they pass through changes to whatever their imaginations conjure.

As usual, Annette has better control of the dream than he does. He’s not sure how it happens, but one moment his boots land on Fhirdiad paving stones, and the next they plod against wood flooring. In the space of a blink they stand in the library at Garreg Mach, surrounded by towering bookshelves laden with dusty books and yellowed scrolls.

Another place Felix never fails to associate with Annette. He half-expects her to climb one of the ladders and strain for a book on a higher shelf, can hear an echo of her singing and an echo of himself warning her that she’ll fall if she’s not careful.

Annette faces him then, her expression uncharacteristically grave before she announces, “We’ll rescue you.”

He blinks at her, startled by her intensity almost as much as he is by her words. She dropped his hand sometime between arriving at the library and pinning him with her gaze, and he misses the warmth of her palm pressed against his. “I…how?” he wonders. “I don’t even know where I am right now.”

“But you will!” Annette’s fingers tug at her shawl, catching on a loose thread before pulling it out. “I, um, I told the others about the dream.”

Felix’s eyes widen. “What? But I thought—”

“It’s like I told you before, isn’t it?” she says, her voice plaintive, as if she seeks approval. “It’s come in handy for conveying information before; now we just have to apply it more specifically to, well, rescue you from the Empire!”

He rakes a hand down his face and sighs. “Annette,” he says, “I’m being watched rather intently, and I don’t know how the Emperor or whoever is planning to use me, but whatever it is, I doubt it’ll be worth the effort of _rescuing_ me while you still have a war to fight.”

For a long heartbeat Annette says nothing. She only stares at him, her eyes wide and lips parted, before her fist connects with his chest.

It knocks the air from him, and he stumbles back with his jaw dropping, more surprised than hurt (not that anything in the dream _can_ hurt). “What was that for?” he demands.

Annette advances on him, and he steps away, raising his hand to catch any ensuing punches, only for her fingers to grab at his collar and yank him down to her level. “Don’t you dare say that!” she hisses with more ferocity than he’s ever seen from her before. If he thought her angry for overhearing her singing in the greenhouse, if he saw her livid after a one-sided quarrel with her father, it was nothing to her fury now.

It makes him stiffen, and for once he’s glad magic doesn’t touch the dream.

“Don’t say you’re not worth rescuing!” she scolds him. She shakes him, her eyes burning with blue flame forcing him to meet her gaze.

Felix reaches for her hands, unsure if he wants to take them to reassure her - not that he can think how - or simply keep them from wrinkling his coat. “I didn’t—”

“You did, you—you fool!” Annette lets him go to raise her hands, exasperation written all over her face and in her stiff shoulders. “How can you think it’s not worth it to us to rescue you? Or that it’s not worth it to _me_?”

“I…” His mouth dries under her gaze, and he tears his away as shame writhes within him. “We’re in the middle of a war,” he reminds her. “Our side doesn’t have the resources to mount a rescue attempt for me, especially if I’m behind the walls of a fortress.”

“I doubt you are,” Annette tells him. “You were only captured two days ago, and the Empire’s armies don’t travel that fast.”

“Even so,” he insists, “it’ll be a wasted effort for what, one more soldier?”

She crosses her arms, her lips pressed together, and Felix knows she won’t be deterred. She’s far more stubborn than he is when it counts, and he’s pretty damn obstinate too. “I could list all the reasons that the Kingdom needs you,” Annette offers, “but I doubt you’ll be interested in that even if you feel any sense of responsibility towards it.”

Felix doesn’t flinch, but he hears the accusation in her voice, how not so long ago he _didn_ _’t_ care about the Kingdom’s fate.

“I could also tell you that you _are_ a valuable soldier and commander and that without you we suffer tactically,” she continues, rolling her eyes, “but the professor and His Highness are pretty clever and know how to adjust our tactics as needed.”

“That just proves my point,” he protests. “Even if I can tell you where I am and describe it, you’ll be expending resources better spent elsewhere.”

“Are you listening to me?” Annette all but growls. “It’s not about how valuable you are to the army or even to the Kingdom, it’s about how I—I mean, _we_ all need you too!”

Pain can’t touch him in the dream, but her words cut him as deep as any blade. Felix averts his eyes from her accusing face, as if the books with their indistinct titles are more interesting.

Annette’s voice seems to shrink when she says, “You haven’t asked about anyone else. Why not?”

He pinches his eyes shut and sighs. “Because you’ll probably start with how they’re all worried about me,” he can’t help sneering; irritation is easier than guilt or fear. “How are they? I suppose I’m the only one foolish enough to be captured.”

“You’re right, they’re all terribly worried.” She crosses her arms and glares at him, as if it’s his fault (which, in a sense, it is). “Sylvain’s jokes are worse and more off-color than usual,” she complains, “and Dimitri’s already started…blaming himself.” She catches her lip between her teeth, her brow furrowing, and Felix suspects there’s more to the b—Dimitri’s state than she’s letting on.

“He needs to stop doing that,” he says. “I was careless at the worst time, and he’d be foolish to bother—”

“Well, it’s not your fault you were captured either!” Annette snaps. She sighs as she continues, “I’ve never seen Ingrid so worn down. She made me promise to insist we need you.”

“Is that a fact?” Felix wonders despite himself, despite the flicker of hope in his chest warring with his wearisome resignation. He’s prepared to wait out the war in fetters or worse, if only to avoid being used against his own side. “I suppose next you’ll tell me about all the extra baking Mercedes and Lysithea have done and that the Monastery kitchens are almost out of sugar and flour and without me you’ll starve.”

Annette considers his words with a tap on her chin and a narrowing of her eyes. “Perhaps I should’ve started with that,” she muses. “Would you believe it?”

Felix snorts and rubs his face. “What if I simply decline to tell you anything about my situation? You can’t rescue me if you don’t know where I am.”

“You’ll give something away while we dream,” she says, her gaze direct and so piercing he still can’t bring himself to look at her, not even when she steps closer to him and rests a small hand on his arm. “You’re almost always here first, and you’re not so good at controlling where the dream takes you, so maybe tomorrow night rather than the greenhouse it’ll be a tent or a dungeon cell or—”

“I have better control than you think,” Felix lies. Though he longs to lean further into her touch, to wrap his arms around her as he did when he greeted her before, he pulls his arm away and steps back.

“I’ll find something,” Annette warns him. “See if I don’t!”

“I’m not telling,” he insists. If his allies mount a rescue against odds such as his lot, they won’t escape with him unscathed; why can’t she see that? “I might simply refuse to join you here.”

Even as he says it, he knows it’s an empty threat, no matter how much he wishes he means it; Felix likes to think he’s strong, but in this - in seeking Annette out, for companionship or for comfort - he’s always been and will always be weak.

Her eyes flash, dark in the low lighting of the dream-library made darker with anger. “I won’t let you martyr yourself for no good reason!” she shouts. “You—you—how could you, Felix? After everything that’s happened, and after your father—”

“ _Don_ _’t_ ,” he growls, his voice pitching low as his hands curl into fists at his sides. In waking - and if he faced anyone but Annette - he might’ve reached for his sword on some useless reflex, but here he can’t do anything but swallow his frustration and glower.

But Annette’s always been able to give as good as she gets. “You’re still alive,” she reminds him. “I doubt the Emperor will be eager to execute you when you’d better serve as a bargaining chip.”

“What are you implying, Annette?” he demands.

“There’s an…advantage to rescuing you sooner rather than later,” she explains. She brightens before his eyes, a smile full of a peculiar cunning curling her lips as she leans towards him. “If we free you from her, she can’t use you against us.”

Felix leans away. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, Annette reminding him in this moment of a cat toying with a mouse and that any moment her claws will spring out and snag him.

He swallows and slowly, deliberately asks, “Then what do you suggest we do?”

Annette’s smile widens…but fades far too quickly. “That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?” she says, sighing. “We don’t know where you are since none of our spies has sent word about you and our scouts reported the Imperial army split as they retreated.”

Frustration that he can’t supply her with even the most basic of information makes his blood boil. He rubs his face and promises, “That’s the first thing I’ll find out when I wake then.”

Which will have to be…soon, he realizes, or at least he can sense the energy in his body dwindling the longer he lingers in this dream. The spell drains him as any other would, and without any real sleep he won’t have a deep enough reserve of magic to cast the spell the following night.

Felix curses himself for a fool. Perhaps if he studied Reason longer and better he could withstand the effects and linger with Annette, when instead the pressure building in his temple will force him to sever the connection.

He tries not to wince, but Annette must notice some discomfort flashing across his face for her lips turn into a frown and her hand cups his jaw.

“It’s time for you to go, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t know if it’s an illusion of the dream that her palm would feel so warm against his skin. He catches her hand in his, as reluctant to let go as he is to leave.

But he grits his teeth and nods.

Annette squeezes his hand. “I’ll find you, Felix,” she swears. “Or, well, we’ll find you, but I’ll find you first.”

“Right,” Felix says. “I wasn’t planning on meeting Sylvain in a dream.”

“We’re lucky we learned how to do this, aren’t we,” she muses with a tentative smile.

“Lucky we didn’t listen to the professor when she warned us it was too dangerous, you mean,” he reminds her, unable to help a smirk from curling his lips.

“Yes, well, explaining to her and everyone else was a little awkward”—she clears her throat, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks—”but I’m…so glad you let me convince you.” She tugs her fingers from his grasp, but before he can mourn the loss she throws her arms around his neck just like she did when she greeted him.

Felix holds her like this as long as he dares, as long as he can stand the heartbeat in his head. “Annette…”

“Rest for now,” she tells him, though her grip on him tightens. “Sleep for real, and I’ll see you tomorrow night?” She poses it as a question, from the way the sentence turns up and how she pulls away with a concerned tilt to her lips.

Felix doesn’t want to leave, but he must. His eyes slip shut, and he reaches with his mind in the way he and Annette learned years ago and finds that fine, frayed thread binding his awareness to the dream.

It unravels, end spinning around end. As Felix sinks into a true sleep, the echo of Annette’s promise rings through his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know this fic is probably a little weird but that's fine because i'm having a good time. Writing about magic dream stuff is fun (even if i make a lot of it up as i go along...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix got chastised and begins to take stock of his situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i'm giving up on the themed chapter titles. i work hard enough writing the darn chapters, why do i need to come up with a title for them?
> 
> in any case, i hope you'll enjoy this chapter! <3

Annette hadn’t set foot inside Felix’s bedroom since she barged in with the express purpose of demanding his forgetfulness and silence by way of bribery, yet now she sat (far calmer than last time) on his desk, her legs swinging and the dream book in her hands.

Felix could list all the ways in which his evening could be better spent. He could stay at the training grounds until curfew or finish penning the letter to his father he’d been putting off or sharpen his favorite sword in preparation for their next mission or even write that siege tactics essay the professor assigned them despite it being the last thing he ought to be doing with his time with a glut of strange enemies converging on the monastery.

Instead he’d let Annette convince him of her inane scheme with the promise that it was _useful_. And he couldn’t deny some part of him simply…enjoyed being near her. It was an alien feeling, but he was glad for the excuse.

“Are you going to sleep here too?” Felix wondered after Annette flipped through a few pages with little more sound than mumbling the text under her breath.

He couldn’t see her face from behind the book, but she stuttered, “W-what? Of course not! Do I look like I’m dressed for sleep? And that would be terribly inappropriate and you know it!”

A scowl twisted his lips, but he turned his head as his cheeks warmed. “Who do you think I am?” he demanded. “Sylvain?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “You’d have to sleep on the floor anyway.”

Annette snapped the book shut to glare at him. “Is that how you treat a guest, Felix?” she said. “You make them sleep on the floor?”

“You’re not even sleeping here,” Felix retorted, gesturing at the rug lying empty (he’d made sure to clear it before Annette took more than a few steps inside), “so why does it matter?”

“Well, at this rate, we won’t be sharing a dream yet either,” she said. She opened the book again, her brow furrowing before she grumbled, “And now I lost my page…”

A sigh escaped through his nose as he buried his face in his hands. “Dammit, how are we supposed to try this if—”

“Why don’t _you_ read the book and see what you can learn from it?” Annette snapped. “Then tomorrow night you can explain everything to me, since you obviously already know so much better than me how to do it!”

Felix, feeling so chastised Ingrid would be green with envy had she witnessed it, snapped his jaw shut. His ears burned, and if he hadn’t seen the sense in her words he might’ve been more annoyed.

He held his hand out. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll just study it tonight and I’ll read some tomorrow between meals and training, and we’ll try properly then.”

Annette’s eyes widened, but she clutched the book closer to her chest. “Did I…hear you right, Felix?” she asked. “Do you have a fever? Should we go to the infirmary? You do look a little red…”

Felix covered his face with a hand and growled, “I’m fine! Let’s just…start with this now.”

“Huh, well, I thought this sounded interesting,” she said, blessedly eager to return to their objective. She cracked the book open again and read, “‘Dreams are ephemeral by nature. To grasp one you must leave as few variables as possible, so concentrate your intent in the spell and forge a bond with your dream partner.’”

“And that means…” He frowned. “What does that mean?”

She tapped the open book against her chin, gaze faraway as she considered. “I think it means dreams have a lot of variables but we can limit some of them by how friendly we are,” Annette explained.

“And once we’re in the same dream…” Felix wished he knew how to ask, _What will you see in_ my _dream?_

“I haven’t gotten to the part where it explains what we can do once we’re dreaming,” she said, shrugging. “It just starts with a chapter on theory, then a chapter explaining the components of the spell, and another with warnings to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, and there’s an appendix with questions we can ask each other to—”

“Wait, wait.” Felix held his hand up to stop her, his heart skipping a beat when her gaze fell on him. “Are you saying this is dangerous?”

“No more dangerous than any other spell of its magnitude,” Annette said. She turned a few more pages, her finger skimming down a passage before she added, “It’s mostly just warning us that when we use the spell to share a dream, our mind isn’t truly asleep so we’re not really _resting_. Also there’s…this.”

“What?” He leaned forward, curious despite his misgivings.

“‘If a dreamer fails to sufficiently put the mind back to sleep, an abrupt severing of the spell risks the dreamer falling into a coma.’”

Felix stiffened, and not for the first time he wondered if this was really a good idea. But unlike every other time, he had to wrap his head around the fact that the magic Annette proposed was far more advanced - and riskier - than anything he’d ever attempted.

He’d never use a sword crafted by a master like Zoltan before he knew he was capable of wielding it, just like he’d never seize upon a risky technique in battle without first mastering it in practice (unless his life depended on it), so why would he for something Annette simply thought would be “interesting”?

“It’s a small risk,” Annette said as if she read his mind as easily as she did the book, but the smile she flashed him lacked an edge. “It’s like the risk of being struck by lightning.”

“If a mage adept with Thunder attacks you in battle,” Felix quipped before he could think better of it, “or if you’re sheltering from the rain in a tall tree.”

Her smile faltered. “Felix, I swear I wouldn’t make you do this if I thought it was dangerous.”

He exhaled slowly. “I know,” he said, “but maybe it doesn’t matter what you think.”

“This book has some precautions we can take,” Annette told him, brandishing the book just like he might a sword when challenging someone to a spar. An effective weapon when battling ignorance, sure, but unlikely to keep him alive. “Let’s just try it once and…see what happens.”

And Felix, because he had no choice but to believe her, agreed.

***

When Felix wakes, his heartbeat throbs dully against his temples, and he knows he dreamed for too long. That realization almost frightens him more than the rope binding his wrists and the sounds of an unfamiliar camp beyond the dark canvas of his tent.

He sits up slowly and strains against the bindings, wincing when they chafe at his skin. “Damn,” he hisses. What’s the point of binding him? He’s in the midst of an enemy camp, doubtless under heavy guard, unarmed, may as well be naked…

(No one needs to know that he looks down, just to ascertain he’s still dressed.)

His tent is bare of any sort of furnishing or marks. All he has is a bedroll and the clothes on his back and the shadows of the soldiers likely standing guard over him to make sure he doesn’t escape now that he’s back to (mostly) full health.

As it is, the specter of an injury makes his side ache, just one more thing to add to his list of complaints. He stands on his knees before touching his hands to the floor and standing, stooping when his head brushes the top of the tent. He takes careful, quiet steps towards the flap, but just as he reaches to lift it, a hand pokes in and knocks on the poll.

Felix jumps, a strangled, startled gasp escaping him. He steps back with his heart in his throat, and not even the steady voice that calls to him calms him.

“Hello?” They sound familiar, at least, but Felix can’t place them. “Lord Fraldarius? Are you decent?”

Is he _decent_? Felix snorts and stares down at his shirt, wrinkled from sleep; he doubts it’s his since it hangs a little loose on his frame.

For a moment he debates either refusing to answer or denying, just to be difficult. But he needs information to give to Annette next time they share a dream, and Felix isn’t so daft he’d risk losing his (thus far) only source.

So he rolls his eyes and grits out, “Yes, I am decent.”

“Oh good,” says the voice. “If you weren’t, I would’ve been curious to see how you managed to undress while your hands are bound, but I suppose that’s no matter.” The tent flap lifts, and a wisp of a man in dark green robes - really, Felix thinks a fledgling mage’s Wind spell could knock him down - enters.

“I take it you don’t remember me,” says the man. His eyes droop, making him look as if he’d rather be sleeping than talking to him (and, well, Felix can almost relate), and he toys with the strap of a boxed kit hanging from his shoulder. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I barely remember you seeing as I avoided the training grounds whenever I could help it, and we were in different classes…”

“And you slept through the few seminars we shared,” Felix remembers. He shrugs and says, “What does it matter? Does your general think that having someone familiar talk to me will ensure I cooperate?”

Linhardt shrugs but sits on his bedroll, uninvited. He arranges his robes around him before settling the kit in his lap and opening it. “I admit that’s something he mentioned when he sent me,” he says, “but that’s not really why I’m here.”

“Why are you—”

“Sit down.” Linhardt pats the spot on the bedroll beside him. “I’m to ascertain you’re fit for travel, and to what extent. Also please don’t hit me like you did the last healer who tried to see to your wounds; if you do, you’ll surely be confined to a wagon, and though the opportunity to lie down for the whole journey would appeal to me, he would be quite angry for that slowdown.”

“Slowdown?” Felix says, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Please sit,” Linhardt insists more pleasantly than he thought him capable of. “It’ll be a quick examination.”

He sighs but does as he’s bid.

“Lift your shirt.”

Felix does that too, his spine stiffening as Linhardt leans close enough towards him to inspect a stripe of too-red skin stretching from his navel to his side. While he plays the part of a cooperative prisoner, he tries to probe, “Where are we?”

“We’re somewhere between—oh, yes, that’s healed nicely,” Linhardt says. “Something like that should’ve killed you, yet you’re already well enough to stand.”

Felix scowls. Of _course_ he’d cut himself off just before revealing crucial information! “But—”

“You can let go of your shirt now.”

He drops it. His heart races as he watches Linhardt rifle through his kit, glass clinking against glass until he pulls out a corked vial. “So about where we’re going—”

“You look terrible,” he interrupts, squinting at him. “Did you sleep at all?”

Felix stiffens all over again, his heart skipping a beat. He’s not sure why he should be nervous - how can anyone possibly learn of a meeting in a _dream_ when he never left this damn tent? - but Linhardt’s pointed question fills him with as much anxiety as any accusation.

“Surely even you understand the value of sleep, Lord Fraldarius,” he adds.

“Of course I slept,” Felix retorts. “What else would I have been doing all night?”

“You are a prisoner of the Empire,” Linhardt notes in an infuriatingly calm air. “Such a predicament may have made it difficult to sleep, though truth be told being in a helpless state is the best time to sleep.”

“What are you going on about?” he demands. He raises his hands, brandishing his bound wrists. “You really think anyone can rest easy knowing they’re a prisoner?”

“You just said you did.”

His face warms with embarrassment at being caught on such an asinine contradiction, but he snaps, “I slept as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

“As you say,” Linhardt says, utterly undeterred by his hostility. He offers Felix the vial in his hands. “Drink this vulnerary with breakfast. You may be nearly healed, but you’re likely still lacking in strength, especially since you slept poorly.”

Felix eyes the vial, suspicious. The liquid within is the same transparent blue of a vulnerary, and he doesn’t doubt it’ll smell as foul as one once he uncorks it. But he’d be a fool not to suspect it conceals a more nefarious substance, especially after he - as Linhardt reminded him - punched the last healer who approached him while injured himself.

(He can still see the bruises on his knuckles; apparently no one bothered to heal those.)

As if Linhardt knows what Felix is thinking, he says, “I’m not in the business of poisoning my patients, unlike someone else I could name.” He rolls his eyes and mumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

He accepts the vial then. If any other healer faced Felix, he wouldn’t put it past them to force the liquid down his throat, but since it’s Linhardt…well.

“Where are we going?” Felix blurts as Linhardt shuts his kit and stands.

“We’re on our way to garrison Fort Merceus,” he says to Felix’s shock. “I suspect from there you’ll be carted off to Enbarr for trial, or something. Frankly, it’s none of my concern, so I didn’t bother asking.” He turns back towards him and frowns. “Although you do have a Crest, and unless I’m misremembering a major one at that…”

Felix glares at him. “Enough to interest you?”

“Perhaps not,” Linhardt muses. “The Emperor hates Crests and probably doesn’t think Crestology has much use as a result. Besides, so long as I can’t observe you in battle, any experiment I design around your major Crest of Fraldarius fails. Although…” A peculiar half-smile rises to his face. “Did you activate your Crest yesterday when you punched your healer?”

Felix can’t tell if Linhardt is poking fun at him or not, and he’s not in an especially generous mood if he is. He raises the vial - which he clutches awkwardly in both hands - and says, “Why don’t I chuck this at you and we’ll see?”

Linhardt looks utterly unruffled when he replies, “Let’s not waste resources now. Good day.” Without another word, he slips away from under the tent flap, leaving Felix alone with his thoughts again.

Fort Merceus…and once he’s ensconced within the impenetrable walls of Fort Merceus and closer to the heart of the Empire, it’ll be nigh impossible for his allies to mount any kind of rescue, regardless of Annette’s insistence. Unless they plan to don some disguise to blend in with the Imperial army…

Maybe there is merit in that. Felix lacks subtlety - as does Annette - but he’s certain the boar’s armies aren’t nearly close to prepared to besiege Fort Merceus, much less to rescue one man. Although it is on the way to Enbarr, he realizes, and any plan to take Enbarr will require taking Fort Merceus first.

Felix almost wants to lie down right then and there and cast the spell that’ll take him into the dream he shares with Annette. His whole body itches to return, to tell her what he’s learned (though he’s no closer to determining their position than from when he woke), to hear her voice and reassure himself that she - and his friends, loathe as he is to admit it - is still all right.

He longs to find her, the desire as sharp as a knife through his gut.

But Annette should be awake now, should be searching for some small task to occupy her just like he wishes he could find something to occupy him. He lacks the strength to cast the spell now too, so he uncorks the vial Linhardt gave him with his teeth and upends the contents into his mouth before he catches a whiff.

It feels a mite thicker than water sliding down his throat, its taste almost too sweet to be palatable. Lysithea claimed to like the taste once, but even Annette makes a face whenever she drinks it.

He hates waiting like this, with his wrists tied together and his stomach twisting itself into knots. He paces the tiny tent as more and more sunlight streams through the canvas, listening to soldiers calling out to each other. Snatches of conversation trickle in, and it’s enough for Felix to guess that breaking camp has been delayed.

He wonders why, and he’s tempted to poke his head out of the tent - perhaps even ask for breakfast because he is starting to feel an edge of hunger - to inquire.

He doesn’t get the chance.

A soldier in light armor and wearing a helmet enters his tent, parting it open with a lance. “You,” he says, pointing at Felix. “Come with me. The general wants a word.”

Felix jumps, surprised by the sudden appearance but…oddly encouraged. Speaking to the general of the army - if it was the Emperor herself Linhardt would’ve mentioned it…probably - will surely yield better results than simply asking any soldier lurking around his tent.

And perhaps if the opportunity presents itself after, he may even find a chance to escape…

When the soldier steps aside, he shoves his way out of the tent. Sunlight pierces his eyes, and he squints against it.

The soldier’s gloved hand closes around his arm, another stepping to his other side to grab his other. Felix stiffens and tries to shrug out of their grip until a third soldier prods his back with the butt of her lance.

“Move,” she barks.

“You don’t have to hold my hand,” Felix grumbles.

“You may be a noble,” she sneers, “but that won’t get you special treatment here.”

“Are you sure?” he retorts tartly. “I’ve had such wonderful accommodations.”

The soldiers, ever so steadfast, don’t dignify him with a reply.

Felix walks without forcing them to drag him, though they insist on holding his arms, their grips as tight as the rope binding his wrists together. He still has his own pride and so refuses to look down or stumble along on their path.

He takes in his surroundings as best as he can. The Imperial army’s war camp resembles any of the Kingdom’s: neat and orderly tents, soldiers on duty with their weapons and soldiers off-duty milling about in uniform, talking amongst themselves. Officers snap orders, soldiers snap to attention, and civilians snap around and about, bearing weapons in need of repair and packing supplies away into wagons.

At what he assumes is the center stands a wide pavilion with a flag bearing the black double-headed eagle rustling with a slight, barely discernible breeze. More officers than rank-and-file soldiers file around here, including warlocks with their tall hats and paladins in crimson tabards with helmets tucked under their arms. They all glance at Felix with suspicion in their eyes, judging him for an outsider.

He stares back, imagining all the ways he can cut through each and every one of them, if only a sword sat in his hand.

His own impotence frustrates him. He tests his bonds again and finds them as unforgiving as the last ten times he tried.

The journey from his canvas prison to the pavilion was but a short walk, but Felix still gasps for breath as subtly as he can. His abdomen aches from his wound, and his head spins from a night poor in rest. He’s likely red in the face from exertion, and it’s pathetic.

He’s no closer to discerning the camp’s location either, too distant from the edge of the encampment to note any landmarks or settlements.

Felix grits his teeth as the soldiers force him to halt at the entrance to the pavilion. The one marching behind him, constantly poking him with a lance, walks around and steps under the shade of the tent to announce, “Sir, we brought the prisoner like you asked.”

“Thank you,” says a low, smooth, chillingly familiar voice. “You’re dismissed as soon as you send him in.”

“Thank you, sir,” says the soldier.

They guide him under the shade of the pavilion, but Felix doubts that’s the only reason the temperature plummets.

A man sits behind a desk littered in documents, leaning back in a flimsy camp chair and sipping from a painted porcelain cup. He lowers it and fixes Felix with a piercing, pale green stare.

“Good morning, Duke Fraldarius,” Hubert greets him with something resembling a smirk. “Shall I offer you my congratulations or my condolences?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to Hubert's involvement in this fic muahaha >:)
> 
> thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you're having a good time so far ;)
> 
> I am on the bird site @gazelle_gazette if you want to hear me chirp about felannie, or FE in general, or writing.


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